Some said two hundred acres.
Some said two thousand.
Everyone agreed on three things.
He lived alone.
He was rich enough not to care what the valley thought of him.
And somewhere in Wyoming or Colorado, a man had supposedly died after making the mistake of threatening him.
The details changed with whoever told the story.
Sometimes Judson killed three men.
Sometimes six.
Sometimes twelve.
Sometimes he used a knife.
Sometimes bare hands.
Josie suspected most stories had improved through repetition.
Still, she had never seen anyone challenge him.
Judson crossed the room.
His boots left melting snow on the floorboards.
He placed the hide on O’Malley’s counter.
“Coffee.”
O’Malley nodded immediately.
“Anything else?”
“Salt.”
“Two tins?”
“One.”
“Flour?”
Judson shook his head.
Amos was staring at him.
Josie recognized the look.
Not fear.
Calculation.
Her stomach tightened.
Her father approached.
“Mr. Vale.”
Judson turned slowly.
Amos swallowed.
“Cold winter coming.”
“Yes.”
“You still alone on that ridge?”
Judson looked at him.
“What concern is that of yours?”
Several men near the stove pretended not to listen.
Amos forced a laugh.
“Just conversation.”
Judson said nothing.
Amos continued anyway.
“Cabin that size gets lonely.”
Josie wished the floor would open.
Her father’s head turned.
Toward her.
The humiliation arrived before the words.
“My girl’s strong.”
Silence.
Josie’s fingers tightened.
Amos continued.
“She cooks.”
“Cleans.”
“Mends.”
“Never causes trouble.”
O’Malley stopped breathing.
Judson’s face became unreadable.
Amos laughed nervously.
“Mighty useful woman in winter.”
Josie stood.
Her father pointed toward her.
“Take her.”
Nobody moved.
The stove popped.
Amos smiled wider.
“She’s yours for winter.”
His words stumbled faster.
“Or longer, if you like.”
“Just buy the supplies.”
Someone near the back coughed.
Josie looked at her father.
He would not meet her eyes.
She should have screamed.
Should have thrown something.
Should have walked into the storm.
Instead she looked at the flour sacks.
Fifty pounds might keep one person alive for months if rationed.
Salt pork meant fat.
Coffee meant warmth.
Blankets meant not freezing.
The arithmetic was ugly.
She understood it anyway.
Her father was trading her.
But perhaps he was also saying what Josie had already suspected.
There was no longer enough room for her survival beside his.
Judson looked at Amos for a long time.
Then at Josie.
She instinctively crossed both arms over her middle.
That was what she did when people looked.
Make herself smaller.
Impossible, of course.
Still she tried.
Judson did not smile.
His gaze moved over her worn shoes.
The frayed hem.
Her pale face.
The hollows beneath her eyes.
Then back to Amos.
“Fifty pounds flour.”
Amos’s face brightened.
“Ten pounds pork.”
O’Malley reached for a pencil.
“Coffee.”
Judson continued.
“Three wool blankets.”
Amos laughed.
“That’ll do.”
Judson placed a gold coin on the counter.
A real one.
More than enough.
O’Malley stared.
Amos reached toward it.
Judson’s hand came down over the coin.
The counter creaked.
“The supplies.”